


Something Wicked This Way Comes

by alexwrites063



Category: Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Consensual Sex, Dom Loki (Marvel), Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Jealous Loki (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Multiple Partners, Odin (Marvel)'s Bad Parenting, Odin (Marvel)'s Parenting, POV Alternating, POV Loki (Marvel), POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Parent Frigga (Marvel), Partners in Crime, Partners to Lovers, Possessive Loki (Marvel), Pre-Thor (2011), Protective Frigga (Marvel), Protective Loki (Marvel), Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexwrites063/pseuds/alexwrites063
Summary: Loki’s life on Asgard has become vapid; uninspiring. He’s got the taste for a little danger.During a trip to earth, he finds just the danger he’s looking for.A partner in crime - in every imaginable sense.[Updates every Saturday]
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33





	1. Trouble Has Never Looked This Good Before - But Then Again, It's Never Been Wearing A Push Up Bra Before.

_To avoid complications_  
_She never kept the same address_  
_In conversation_  
_She spoke just like a baroness_  
_Met a man from China_  
_Went down to Geisha Minah_  
_Then again incidentally_  
_If you're that way inclined_

_Perfume came naturally from Paris (naturally)_  
_For cars she couldn't care less_  
_Fastidious and precise_

_She's a Killer Queen_  
_Gunpowder, gelatine_  
_Dynamite with a laser beam_  
_Guaranteed to blow your mind_  
_Anytime_

_Recommended at the price_  
_Insatiable an appetite_  
_Wanna try?_

\--

**LIFE** on Asgard was unbearably normal.

It was fine. If anything, it was too fine.

There was only so much feasting and so many council meetings one could take, you know?

Loki had stalked off to his chambers, muttering to his brother that he needed time to focus his magic.

He didn't, of course. Odin's lecturing on diplomatic decorum had simply become mind numbingly dull and it seemed like the most suitable excuse.

Loki's chambers were in a prime position. It was, after all, the reason he had coerced his older brother into switching with him when they were both around three hundred years old. He was roughly a hundred yards from the palace kitchens, something that well suited his secret midnight-snacking habit, and about as far from the Allfather and Allmother's chambers as he could possibly be, something that well suited his secret midnight sneaking-out habit.

However, the thing he loved most about his chambers, was the proximity to the palace orchard. If he stepped through the doors onto the balcony, he could grip the railings and sort of kamikaze himself over, before dropping the two-or-so-feet distance between him and the floor, and it was this that had made him want to occupy this chamber so badly.

He'd loved the orchard ever since he was a little boy. It was his safe spot, somewhere he had gone to hide from the world, where nothing could harm him or make him feel anything he didn't want to. He liked to take a book with him, and read under the shade of the apple trees until someone came to retrieve him.

It was here he had considered retreating to when he remembered the girl kneeling between his legs.

She was, Loki believed, a princess of Vanaheim, visiting Asgard with her father. Sex was not something that particularly concerned him, but he had left the council hall feeling rather frustrated, and the remarkably attractive woman had practically thrown herself at him.

If a beautiful woman desired to fellate him, who was he to complain?

It was, however, doing nothing for him - so much so he had forgotten she was even there.

"You can stop now." He wasn't entirely gentle when he tugged her off him, opting to do so with the help of a handful of her hair, but ,hey, he was extremely frustrated and she had been no help in the easing of that frustration.

"I can-"

"Nope." He waved a hand dismissively at the woman, leaving her to gather her clothes and dignity from where they'd been discarded in the floor. Girls were far more his brother's thing.

The only satisfying sexual encounter he had ever had had been on Midgard, some ten years before. Her name was Elizabeth, and she wanted to be an actress. With a head of carefully constructed dark curls and unusual violet coloured eyes, she was positively electrifying. She'd liked Loki's regal manner, assumed he was important. He'd been looking for a way to unwind and had yet to find it in a bottle of whiskey. They had, you might say, used each other equally.

He wondered what she was doing now.

Midgard, however, didn't seem like too bad an idea.

The mortals, he thought, were funny. Their funny little ways, their funny little habits, their funny little emotions.

He rather liked that idea. Midgard it was to be, then.

\--

Las Vegas, was perhaps, the worst place he had ever been. Crawling with perhaps the worst specimens humanity had to offer, and drowning in immorality, Vegas was perhaps the physical embodiment of iniquity. 

Perhaps the underbelly of the world, Vegas combined all aspects of bigotry - racism, misogyny, pride. Men traded their lives away to pay to warm the sheets of women condemned to a life of misery, destined to while their days away in some clandestine pact with dingy hotel rooms. 

_Not_ Vegas, Loki thought to himself. 

New York, he was not particularly fond of either. It was _much_ too cold and full of self importance. The people were, largely, cold and unpleasant, and the food was something he could never get behind. 

Europe he had not visited for a long while since. It had been stricken by an unpleasant pox last time he had visited, covering the suffering with boils as large as the palm as his hand. He’d begrudgingly lent his healing skills to the ailing people. After all, he really didn’t like the smell of rotting flesh. 

He wasn’t altogether pleased with the likenesses the people later formed in the name of worship.

In all honesty, they made him look rather greasy and weaselly.

—

Montecarlo, Loki thought, might be a little more interesting than he'd initially thought. Possibly, his favourite place he'd visited on Midgard.

It was like a hive of temptation, the culmination of human greed. Nowhere on earth quite said luxury like a city dressed to the nines, and Loki loved it.

It was far better than his previous visits, wherein he had found the planet stricken by various bouts of violence and deadly plagues. 

1973, with its penchant for sex, drugs and rock'n'roll was far more to his taste.

He had, in the short time he'd been in the city, become very well acquainted with the calibrate of person who liked to visit. Men with enough class to never let an expletive pass their lips within company, but perfectly happy to snort narcotics off the seats of public toilets using a ten dollar bill that was on its fourth use.

Women loyal enough to remain on the arm of one gentleman for the whole of an evening but not opposed to a quick fuck in a back alley from a tall dark stranger with a mysterious smile.

Sex was not something Loki was particularly concerned with, but he did enjoy the sense of power he got from looking directly into the eyes of a man whose wife he had made come undone not ten minutes earlier.

Humans, he noted, were no different to the savage tribes of Muspelheim. They just hid it better, under expensive clothes and university degrees and layers of makeup.

This was not something he necessarily was bothered by. He was having far too good a time for that.

Casinos, he had taken a real liking to. Money was another thing that held no meaning for him, but cheating pompous assholes out of what they believed was rightfully theirs?

_That,_ he could get behind, and it seemed he was not alone in that.

He had been watching you all evening, as you worked your way around the room.

You were dressed to kill, and the man you'd turned your attentions to looked like he would gladly die if it would please you.

One hand stroking his *ahem* ego, and the other stealing his wallet.

You were _perfect_.

Mischief was on his agenda, and you looked like a _wonderful_ accomplice.

He'd approached you quietly, a gentle hand on your shoulder, his lips by your ear.

"Well, hello." He'd murmured, as you turned to face him. "Who might you be?"

You'd practically preened at the sudden attention, clearly very pleased with the idea of a second conquest of the evening.

"Darling, I'm your worst nightmare." You bit your red painted lip, your eyes trailing the length of him. Your glance was cold, calculating - pretty much everything Loki appreciated in a woman. 

For a moment, he wondered if you were to kill him, how you would carry out the act. He felt almost as if he would appreciate it. 

You looked like a poisoner, he decided. Less messy, less loose ends to take care of. 

“And what, exactly, does my worst nightmare take to drink?” He could feel the smug grin growing on his face. “I am well acquainted with the torment of the unconscious mind.” 

You were taken aback, that much he could see from your face. For someone so experienced with hustling card games, you did not have much of a poker face. 

His smile grew. Unsettling people was one of his _very_ favourite things.

“Champagne.” You still gnawed at your lip, but the reasoning, he could tell, had changed - if he didn’t know better, he’d think you were quite literally biting back a smile. 

“A lady after my own heart.” He replied. “You have good taste.” 

“Only the best.” You lifted your glass towards him. 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

\-- 

The course of the evening made abundant to Loki exactly how you operated. You were fairly certain you had him in the palm of your hand, that much he could tell - and it was certainly amusing to play along with it. 

You played your role well, and that was something he admired. You allowed him to lead the conversation, showering his ego with praise and affirmation. You fiddled with your hair as you spoke, twisting it around your index finger before draping it over your clavicle, trailing towards your ample bosom. 

You occasionally - intentionally - licked at your lip as you spoke, your tongue coyly tracing your plump bottom lip, tilting your head to the side as if to show how truly intrigued you were by what he was saying, exposing a good deal of neck in the process. 

It truly was a shame, he thought, that mortal men were unable to see the brains, the intellect, behind the beauty - or more specifically, the bust. 

Midgardian men were truly unable to see exactly what they possessed, but on Asgard, you would’ve been celebrated, treasured even, for the power of your mind. 

It was a great pity, Loki thought, and rather unfortunate for their wallets. 

You’d kept him on his toes since you’d first spoken. You were keeping him on his toes now. 

He watched you as you spoke to the woman next to you. You were so careful, every movement deliberate, purposeful. 

You played your part well. In a knee-length blue dress, you largely left the curves of your body to the imagination. The imagination, however, was aided by how the material clung to your hips and your more than ample bosom. Almost every male eye in the room was on you. 

You made your way back over to where he lent on the bar. You seemed to enjoy toying with him. As to why, he could not fathom. 

You waved a bottle of champagne in his face, before topping up his own glass. 

“Consider the favour...” You flashed a smile at him that was utterly to die for. “ _Repaid_.” 

He ran a hand through his long hair, catching your gaze. 

If he was an ordinary man, he would be truly fucked. 

“So, tell me.” His voice came out as something closer to a purr than anything else. “How does a woman such as yourself turn to petty crime?” If it were possible to display every element of the spectrum of human emotion in one simultaneous instant, Loki was sure it would look very similar to how your face currently looked. 

Almost as quickly as it had come over you, it was gone. The mask returned and you flashed him a coy grin. 

“What gave me away?” Your left eyebrow quirked. 

“I’m perceptive.” He smiled. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m better.” 

“What are you, a cop?” Your voice was calm, level. It was almost completely impossible to detect the emotions behind it. 

“Please.” He scoffed. “I have a proposal for you.” 

Your arm dropped to your side. Your face remained unchanged, but the mischief, the slight twinkle in your eye, was gone. 

“Meet me outside the toilets in five minutes.” Your voice was hoarse. You turned away from him with a swish of apple-scented hair, taking a step away from him. 

He reached out, catching your wrist. You stumbled slightly, grabbing at the bar to steady yourself. 

“I’m not interested in sex, if that’s what you think.” His voice dropped. 

“Then what do you want?” You spun to face him. 

“If you show me, I’ll show you.” He grinned at you. 

“Show me, what, exactly?” You asked, intrigued. 

“Everything.” He whispered. His hand came up to your face, taking your chin gently inbetween his forefinger and thumb. He turned your head gently from side to side, before tilting it back. You watched with curious eyes, but allowed him to rest his hand on your forehead. 

He closed his eyes slowly, his consciousness seeping through his body, penetrating your mind. 

\--

It was an odd place, your mind. He’d never been in any other quite like it. There had always been a lot going on, in people’s minds. They were.. furnished. Most appeared as a place, at least - a childhood home, a favourite place - but yours was remarkably empty. 

Enormous black units surrounded him, rows upon rows of boxes reaching as far as his eyes could see. The only other thing present within your mind was a chair, upon which you sat. 

It was tall and as black as the shelves. The back faced him, your legs slung either side of it, your elbow resting on the top. Your chin rested on your fist, and you watched him as he adjusted to your surroundings, one eyebrow bemusedly quirked. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” You smiled. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t get a lot of visitors, you know, _inside my head_.” 

Loki laughed. 

“Your mind is intriguing, little one.” He walked towards one of the units to get a closer look, lifting a hand to open one. It didn’t budge. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” You teased. 

“Just the pretty ones.” He tugged again, a little harder. “What’s in these boxes?“

“My deepest secrets.” You replied curtly. “How do you do this, anyway? You don’t get many people who can waltz into your mind uninvited around here.” 

“I told you, you show me, and I’ll show you.” He left the boxes, walking over to where you sat. He circled you a few times, looking around for anything else within your mind. “I am not of this world.” 

“ _No shit_.” You grumbled. 

“Ladies first.” He grinned. “I want to know how you do it. Then you will get your answers.” 

“Then get out of my head.” You replied. “The only person in here to scam is you, and it’s not quite the same when someone knows you’re going to rob them.” 

“Very well.” Loki snapped his fingers. 

You opened your eyes with a gasp as he lifted his hand from your forehead. 

“Never do that again.” You warned. 

He chuckled, lifting his hand to support his head, looking at you expectantly. 

“I’m waiting.” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Where shall we start?” 

\--

You leant across the table towards Loki. 

“That one.” You tilted your head towards the left. 

He lifted his head, looking up for the man you’d singled out. The ginger in the double breasted suit? The lanky blonde with the knock knees? The man bun? 

No. 

He knew the one. 

“Clammy hands.” He mused. “Look at the discoloration on the front of his trousers. The pigment has been lost from repeatedly wiping his hands on them. He has sweaty hands.” 

“Can I keep you?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Why him?” He asked. “How do you choose?” 

“I don’t.” You replied. “They sort of... reveal themselves. They look at me. Stare at me. All I have to do is look back.” 

“And from there?” 

“The art of robbing someone just comes down to sleight of hand. Same as hustling a card game.” You glanced over at the man. “I used to do magic tricks with cards and make people’s car keys disappear as a kid. I picked it up from there.” 

“Impressive.” He leaned back in his seat. “Why do you do it?” 

“This world has not been kind to me.” You sighed. “Besides, life is so much more interesting with a little chaos.” 

He chuckled, placing both of his elbows on the table, hands clasped together in front of his face. 

“Do you fuck all of them?” He raised one eyebrow. 

“Just the pretty ones.” Your face cracked into a wide smile. 

He stared at you for a second. This beautiful, conniving woman in front of him, the poison that resided in your mind, the deadliness that lay in your hands. 

In all honesty, it excited him. 

You’d intrigued him since he’d very first laid eyes on you, and every moment since, that intrigue had grown. Who were you really? What were you? 

For the first time that evening, it occurred to him that he didn’t even know your name. 

He got the feeling that if he asked, you wouldn’t tell him the truth. You weren’t that stupid. 

You were hiding from something, he was fairly sure. Being in hiding was something he was all too familiar, and if there was anything he had learned in his five thousand years of life, it was how to spot when someone was on the run. 

“I believe you are _exactly_ what I’ve been looking for, little criminal.” He murmured. 

“And what, pray tell, would that be?” You pursed your red painted lips. 

“A partner in crime.” He replied. “A fellow mischief maker, if you will.” 

“You could be a serial killer.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“So could you.” He said curtly. “I _entered your mind_ and you’ve just explained how you _con and rob_ people, but yet, here we both still are.” 

You blinked, shifting so you were leaning on your left side. Your expression was thoughtful - you were considering his suggestion. 

“And what exactly do I get out of this deal?” You asked. 

“You saw what I did earlier.” He leaned forwards on his forearms. “I will open your mind to things you cannot currently even begin to comprehend.” 

“Okay. I’ll bite.” You lifted your drink to your lips, taking a sip. “I accept your offer.” 

“I must tell you.” He warned. “You will be playing with fire.” You set your glass down on the table, before leaning back in your seat. You turned your head to the left briefly, tossing your hair over one shoulder. You crossed one leg over the other as you turned back to face him. Your eyes found his, a gaze that truly seemed to be looking into his soul, and you smiled. 

“ _Luckily for you, I like to watch things burn._ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	2. As it turns out, adventuring in the unconscious mind is super overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback would make my day, feel free to drop a comment! 
> 
> Enjoy.

_Hey kids, shake it loose together_   
_The spotlight's hitting something_   
_That's been known to change the weather_   
_We'll kill the fatted calf tonight_   
_So stick around_   
_You're gonna hear electric music_   
_Solid walls of sound_

_Say, Candy and Ronnie, have you seen them yet_   
_Uh but they're so spaced out, B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets_   
_Oh but they're weird and they're wonderful_

\--

You sighed as you slept, your breasts heaving.

Loki turned on his side, running the tips of his fingers over your sleeping form. The thin blanket was draped over you, not quite thick enough to warm your body properly. 

You snored, he had noticed, and it had bothered him to no end. As a god, he was required to sleep very rarely, which left him with nothing better to do than watch you sleep, most nights. 

He was intrigued by your mind. He had never entered a consciousness quite like it before, and the mystery of the contents of the shelves was really getting on his nerves. 

Over the last few weeks, you’d been sharing a room. After all, it was cheaper to have one room and it helped maintain the pretence that you were husband and wife. 

Your system had become fairly streamlined, and you’d become quite comfortable in each others’ presence. Comfortable enough that you’d allow yourself to sleep and trust him to protect you. After all, your body was a powerful asset, and you would rather it remained in one piece. 

Your unconscious mind, however, was a mystery to Loki, and one he fully intended to investigate. 

He lifted his hand, pressing his palm against your forehead. 

\--

He looked around, briefly. It was just ask dark as it had been before, and just as empty. 

He wandered towards the boxes again. What was stored in your mind that you so badly needed to hide? You had revealed everything to him, but not your mind, and that was a concept he really, _really_ struggled with. 

He grabbed at the handle, jiggling it with all his might, but it just wouldn’t budge. 

“I told you never to invade my mind again.” Your voice startled him. 

“You’re supposed to be asleep.” He spun on his heel. 

“And you are _most certainly_ not supposed to be inside my head, so don’t try to take the highroad with me.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“You’re supposed to be asleep.” He repeated, blinking incredulously. “Your body is asleep. How are _you_ not asleep?” 

“Are you broken, or owt?” You raised your eyebrow. “As you can well see, I am not asleep. I find it suits me to be at least partially conscious at all times.” 

“Are you always like this when you’re sleeping?” He eyed you suspiciously, sat once again on your chair. 

During the short period of time he’d known you, he had discovered that you found it very difficult to sit normally on a chair, opting instead for a number of uncomfortable looking and seemingly anatomically impossible positions. It didn’t annoy him as much as had he thought it might. 

He’s asked you about it once. You’d mentioned that you had been briefly employed as a contortionist, but brushed it off whenever he tried to bring it up again. 

In all honesty, it wasn’t the most unusual thing he’d discovered about you. 

“Yup.” You popped the P. “And yes, that does mean that your midnight perving has not gone unnoticed.” 

“I do not _perv._ ” He rested one hand on his hip. “I observe interesting things. You happen to be interesting.” 

“Well, I sure am glad you think so.” You drawled. “Anyhoo, to what do I owe the pleasure of this little midnight intrusion?” 

“Are you ever going to tell me what’s in all these boxes?” He asked. 

“Trust me when I say it is best for our combined safety that I don’t.” You looked straight into his eyes. 

He hated when you did that. The only other person who had ever looked at him was that same intensity was his mother, and she had always had quite the knack for staring straight into his soul. 

Come to think of it, so did you. 

\--

Loki shifted his weight in his seat, lifting his eyes from the steadily melting ice cube in his glass to the pair of breasts that had shifted into his line of vision. They were, he noted, rather nice breasts. Large. 

“Another drink?” A smooth voice asked him. 

“I’m good, thanks.” He cleared his throat, waving a hand dismissively. With the assistance of his unique talents, the evening’s entertainment had left him rather better off than he had started. 

To any other man, being dealt a three and a seven as a holecard in your first game of the evening would surely be a bad sign of things to come. But Loki was no ordinary man, and with a little _coercion_ his cards had switched themselves out for a slightly better hand. Never a pair of aces, he had learned, it was much too suspicious. No, two queens were his weapon of choice. 

But, as ever, if you made a man a fool, he would call you a thief. 

It did not bother him much. He had been called far worse. 

He’d had no need for your quick hands and easy deceptions in his games this evening - but you were, as ever, his charming accomplice, as pretty and poisonous as you had been the night you met him. 

His eyes were on you now, and it seemed he was not alone in that. You were slightly distracted as you crossed the room, one hand running through your hair to smooth it. Your carefully outlined eyes had smudged ever so slightly, the seam that ran down your left thigh slightly askew. 

“Really? _Him_?” He raised one eyebrow as you approached him. 

“What? He’s cute.” You stuck your tongue out at him. “Sort of.” 

“Finished?” He continued, holding out his hand. 

“He certainly is.” You raised your eyebrows. 

He pulled a face at you, and you couldn’t help but grin as you reached your hand into the side of your dress. This was, he had learned, your favourite place to keep things you would rather not lose - with the exception of your handgun, of course, which was always either tucked into the band around your thigh or under your pillow whilst you slept. 

He wondered briefly how the hell you explained why you were in immediate possession of a 10mm glock to the gentlemen you entertained. 

A tiny metal key dangled between two of your delicately manicured nails, and he grinned. 

“You _beauty_.” He held his hand out further to you, palm up, waiting for you to drop it. 

“Tut, tut, tut. Where are your manners?” You teased. “Ask nicely.” 

He stared at you incredulously. You tilted your head to one side, sticking your tongue out mockingly. 

“You are an _infernal_ nuisance, you know that?” He rolled his eyes, leaning over to grab your arm and tug you into his body. You were supposed to be his wife, after all. 

“So I’ve heard. Now, if you want the candy..” You leaned into him, your voice dropping to a low whisper. “ _You’ve got to play ball._ ” 

Your lips brushed gently against his jawbone, nothing more than a chaste brush of skin, leaving a burning trail in their wake.

“You know I could just kill you, right?” He turned to you, trailing his fingers down your arm, his own wrapping round your waist. 

“But what would be the fun in that?” You blinked up at him innocently. 

If he wasn’t a god, if he didn’t have so much self restraint, he would be melting in your hands. 

He felt a gentle jingle and a slight weight in his back pocket, followed by the gentle brush of your fingers across his bum. 

“You know, a good fuck would _really_ sort out your little attitude problem.” He mused, turning to face you.

“Nice try, Loki.” You rolled your eyes. “And, well..” You waved your hand at the gentleman who had been your evening’s _companion_. 

“I said _good._ ” He chuckled. “And by the way, darling, you really shouldn’t touch a man’s bum like that. Leads the mind to all sorts of _unsavoury_ places.”

“You fucking wish.” A very un-ladylike snort left your mouth. 

“Mr Evans, who exactly might this delightful young thing be?” A sharp voice drew his attention. 

He glanced up at the man standing before him. He was tall, taller than Loki, and thin, like one of of those gross spiders you find in the corner of your room. His face was drawn, likely from stress, he concluded . A smattering of whiskers littered his chin, a slightly unpleasant twinkle in his lined eyes. 

“My lovely lady wife.” He smiled, pulling you in to him a little tighter. “The current Mrs Evans.” 

You turned your head in such a way that only he could see you rolling your eyes.

“Charmed, I’m sure.” You turned back to face your company, a tight lipped smile curving on your face. “I do apologise, but I don’t believe we’ve met before.” 

“It does seem that way, so please, allow me to introduce myself.” He took your hand in his own, lifting it to his face and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Roger Slater. I was just chatting to your husband here, not twenty minutes ago.” 

Something about the way he was looking at you made Loki grab you a little tighter. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” He asked, trying to remain as polite as he was able. “I’m sure my fine lady can assist me in carrying a few extra drinks.”

“An old fashioned, if you would, my good man.” His tone was level, his voice smooth. It made Loki cringe. 

\--

You weren’t paying that much attention to either of the men before you, so the cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and the sudden sharp tug came as something of a surprise to you. So much so, that you almost yelped in surprise. 

Almost. 

You gathered your composure as you steadied yourself, smoothing down your skirt with your free hand. You weren’t sure whether it was the heels that left you so unsteady on your feet, or the negroni you had necked not five minutes earlier. 

Loki’s hand was tight on your wrist as he led you towards the bar, his fingers icy cold on your delicate skin. Why was he always so cold? 

“Be careful with that one.” He whispered. You opened your mouth to question him, but he had turned towards the barmaid to request more drinks. 

The man to your left wasn’t particularly subtle in his eyeing of you, his gaze sweeping your form a few times before shooting you a smile that made your skin crawl. 

You shuddered, grabbing at the tumbler closest to you and taking a long sip, scowling to yourself. 

“Why the long face?” A look of bemusement settled on Loki’s face - something you found really, really infuriating. 

“These men.” You grumbled. “They talk to me, treat me like a pretty little piece of fucking meat.” 

“That’s because to them, you are.” He shrugged dismissively. “Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Rage bubbled in the pit of your stomach, like an angry, venomous torrent climbing up your throat. 

“Why, you little - _hmmmph_.” His hand slapping over your mouth cut you short. 

“Might I remind you, darling, that you have a role to play. You shall get your vengeance.” He shot you a sickeningly sweet grin. “But for now, you shall have to grin and bear it, little pork chop.” 

You seethed from behind his hand. 

“Hold your tongue, that’s all I ask of you.” His gaze was earnest. “Will you do that for me?” 

You cast your gaze downwards, nodding your head. 

“Good girl.” He lifted his hand from your mouth, smiling as you glowered at him. He kissed your hand delicately, a brush of his lips across the skin of your knuckles, before holding out his arm for you to take. 

The unusual gentleman, Mr Slater, was, as promised, still waiting for you across the room. He thanked you politely as you handed him his drink, his eyes alight as if something were terribly funny. 

“Are you sure we have never met before, Mrs Evans?” His left eye quirked as he spoke. “You seem awfully familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.” 

“I guess I just have one of those faces.” You shrugged. 

“Yes, quite.” He said. “Anyway, I have a rather unusual talent that I often whip out at parties, just as a little amusement. I feel it might interest you both, if you care to indulge my silliness.” 

You glanced across at Loki, trying to hide the bewilderment from your face. He shrugged, holding out his hands. 

“Be my guest.” He agreed. 

You weren’t really sure what exactly you were expecting. Perhaps table top magic - rabbits out of a hat, coins from behind ears, that type of thing. Hell, maybe he was truly psychotic and was going to stab the both of you. 

“It’s more of a childish parlour trick, really, but I have this unusual gift for reading people. Amateur psychology, really, but rather fun.” He grinned at your confused faces. “I pick up little things about people, tells me all sort of things. Secret affairs, family feuds, the yearnings of the heart. Even people’s greatest fears.” 

He paused for a moment, lifting his glass to his mouth. He gathered the drips from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, looking back up at you both. 

You thought it was a real shame he considered ‘people reading’ his greatest talent and not this overblown display of amateur dramatics. 

“The pair of you are a little more enigmatic than most, but I think I could give it a crack, if you would allow me.” 

You nodded breathlessly as he leaned towards you, your heart hammering in your chest. It was almost as if every nerve, every cell in your body was imploring you, _screaming_ at you to not let this strange man come any closer to you. 

Your feet felt frozen in place as his hand landed on your shoulder, his calloused palms like sandpaper against the soft skin of your shoulder. A breath stilled in your throat as his head dipped so his lips were level with your ear. 

“You will kill again, and it _terrifies_ you.” He whispered. “It keeps you up at night, doesn’t it? Not the knowledge of what you have done, but what you know you _will_ do. It’s okay, darling, your secret is safe with me.” 

You exhaled sharply as he drew away from you, a nervous laugh bubbling out of your chest. 

Who the fuck _was_ this guy? 

He winked at you as he took another sip of his drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Loki’s line of vision flitting back and forth between the two of you, looking for any hint of what he had said to you, what could’ve so clearly, so deeply, unsettled you. 

You sure as _hell_ weren’t going to tell him. 

Your eyes followed him closely as he leaned in towards Loki. Unlike you, he maintained his cool composure, but you were fairly certain you saw something adjacent to fear flicker in the back of his eyes. 

Over time, you’d become an accomplished lip-reader, but this time, you felt for sure that your skill had failed you. You’d not picked up much, a single word, in fact, but you knew it couldn’t be correct. 

That word, that single word, that allegedly had Loki witless with fear? 

_Himself._

His hand shot out, grabbing at your wrist, his nails biting into your skin. 

“I’m really sorry, but my wife and I have to leave.” He spat out, turning on his heel, and striding away as quickly as his legs would carry him, almost dragging you behind him. 

You had never seen him this flustered before. His cheeks were ever so slightly pink, his eyes glittering with anger, his chest rapidly expanding with every shallow breath. His grip on your wrist was like a vice, and you felt for certain that there would be the imprints of his long fingers marring your skin in the morning. 

Just before you reached the door, you were fairly certain you heard the unusual man call ‘See you around!’ cheerfully over your shoulder. 

“Who the hell was that?” You asked as you hurried down the corridor towards the lift. 

“I don’t know.” He replied. “Like he said, we were talking when you were out. He owns a jewellery company. I didn’t think he’d try and get to us. Messing with you in that way, saying he thinks he knows you to try and catch you offguard.. It’s certainly unusual behaviour.” 

“See, there’s the thing. I don’t think he was fucking with me there. He looked familiar to me, too. I think I’ve met him before.” You pressed a finger to your lip thoughtfully. “And don’t even try taking the ‘weak mortal’ path here. You were bricking it too, I could see it in your face.” 

“You see what I want you to see, little mortal, and nothing more.” He shot you a glare. “Now, about that key.” 

“We all see only what we’re shown, Loki.” You mused. “Even you.” 

He glanced at you curiously as you stepped into the lift. 

\--

The encounter with Mr Slater had left Loki deeply unsettled. From the very off, something about the strangle man had made him uncomfortable. 

He couldn’t even really work out why. He was, if anything, perfectly pleasant. Polite, courteous, well spoken. There was, at least on the surface level, nothing wrong with him. 

But yet, he was nothing short of creepy. His smile wouldn’t have been any more unsettling if black widow spiders had crawled out from in between his pale lips. 

When he revealed he had a little talent, Loki wouldn’t have been entirely shocked if he’d told him it involved punting kittens. 

He himself was not exactly known for his strict adherence to anything resembling a moral code, and if anything, it made it all the more unusual that he had affected Loki so badly. 

If there is anyone in this world - or any other - to be truly afraid of, it’s not the man who stalks your nightmares - it’s who stalks _his_. 

He was, however, desperate to know what Roger had said to you. You would, of course, never tell him. Under other circumstances, he would consider subduing you in some way, but from the few encounters with your subconscious mind he had already had, he got the feeling that even then you wouldn’t willingly surrender the information. 

It was this he was pondering as he rifled through the irritatingly mundane belongings of one Mr J Grey. When you’d selected him as your victim of the evening, you’d done so on the premise that he was wearing a very expensive suit, but as Loki was discovering, he hadn’t quite been the man you were looking for. Aside from half a gram of cocaine in a small ziploc bag - _honestly, **who** kept their narcotics in their bedside table?_ \- and a scuffed Barclaycard with yet more cocaine tightly pressed into the embossed numbers - _expired, he **had** checked_ \- he had found nothing of any real value. Knock-off watches, fake leather wallets, poorly made suits, but nothing particularly valuable. 

“Your judgement is poor, darling.” He said. “This man is both immensely dull and revoltingly messy.” 

“I am sorry to disappoint, but we Terrans are a rather messy species.” You remarked. “In fact, we are renowned for it.” 

He laughed, staring down at his gloved hands. You were quite right - humans truly were a messy, invasive little species. A cosmic nuisance, of sorts. He was just glad that, for the most part, they stuck to their own planet. The furthest they had actually gotten was their own bloody moon, so they weren’t exactly regarded as a _threat_ to other species. 

“I think we should cut our losses and get out of here before he gets back.” You sighed, running your hand through your hair. 

Loki muttered his agreement, rising from where he knelt on the floor. He was happy to dispose of the clammy plastic that clung to his hands, flinging them into his pocket dimension as he headed towards the door. 

He dropped a throw-away comment as he walked down the corridor, eliciting a true, from-the-chest belly laugh from you. Quick as ever, you responded within a heart beat, but Loki found himself missing your witticism, distracted by a sudden thought. 

_Since when did humans start referring to themselves as Terrans?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I previously lived and worked in a pub. During this time, I discovered that one of my regulars - affectionately - referred to his wife as 'the current Mrs [redacted]'. 
> 
> It really tickled me, so it snuck its way into this chapter.


	3. As it turns out, adventuring in the unconscious mind is super overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'The boy with the thorn in his side' is Loki's official anthem. Don't even try to argue with me. 
> 
> Also, I cried writing this chapter. I'm honestly the softest. Someone weep with me. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated more than you could ever imagine. Please love me. 
> 
> Enjoy, huns. 
> 
> \- Me

_The boy with the thorn in his side_

_Behind the hatred there lies_

_A murderous desire for love_

_How can they look into my eyes_

_And still they don't believe me?_

_How can they hear me say those words_

_Still they don't believe me?_

_And if they don't believe me now_

_Will they ever believe me?_

_\--_

**LOKI** was rather beginning to like Earth.

Specifically, this little corner. He’d been to Spain before, during the time of an inquisition, and was generally less than impressed. So, Castellon was a pleasant surprise. 

After the interesting experience with Roger Slater, you’d mutually agreed to get away from Monaco, sharpish. 

It hadn’t bothered Loki so much as he thought it was weird, but it bothered you more than you were letting on. You never said it in as many words, but your behaviour changed. 

The unusual encounter had initially been dismissed by you both, left without so much as another word. But after two days of your head snapping round every time you heard footsteps behind you and sitting bolt upright every time he shifted at night, he knew it was bothering you, so you decided another destination was for the best. You hung around for a few days to avoid suspicion, before leaving the hotel you had been in. A little under forty euros later, you were tucked into your seats on the overnight train to Montpellier. 

You’d settled a little more once you were in a different country, but it left Loki wondering what exactly the strange man had whispered in your ear that had you tip-toeing on your nerves in that way. He’d even considered entering your mind again, but the one time he’d decided to give it a crack had not gone so well. As soon as his hand came within five centimetres of your sleeping form, your own had reached out and grabbed his wrist, your eyes flying open. 

He watched you now as you sat across from him, stabbing a mushroom with your fork and swiping it through the sauce on your plate. A few strands of your hair fluttered in the gentle breeze, the evening sun warming your complexion. You looked softer in the warm light, less harsh somehow, as if someone had taken an eraser to your edges. 

Just the night before, you’d successfully seduced and robbed a man who happened to be in possession of diamonds of a karat higher than you could count and in greater quantities than you could fit into your pockets. You’d been so pleased with your conquest that the worry you’d carried on your face for days had slipped, spinning circle after victorious circle across the plaza’s stone labyrinth. 

Your good mood had continued through to the morning. In the two months or so he had known you, every single day you had vanished at roughly nine o’clock, for about an hour and a half. What you did in that time, he had no idea.

This morning, however, you had led him through the city centre, along bleached pedestrian streets and through winding alley ways to a tiny shop just off the street, with a small orange sign barely visible through the grubby glass and a mouthwateringly savoury smell wafting out the door and down the street. 

You’d greeted the owner with surprising geniality, quietly asking for a cortado - _he would later discover this was pretty much the full extent of your Spanish_ \- and something he didn’t quite catch. You accepted your coffee and a small paper bag, with a quiet _muchisimas gracias_. 

Blinking the bright morning light out of his eyes, he’d unfolded the brown bag, reaching inside and feeling around for the contents. It was soft and slightly springy to the touch, and drawing it out into the light revealed it to be a small cake, golden brown in colour and wrapped in a white casing. 

“Breakfast.” Was all you’d said as he’d eyed it curiously. He was pleasantly surprised to discover - after a first tentative bite - that it was sweet and buttery, the fluffy sponge melting in his mouth, leaving his mouth empty but for the remaining traces of sugar and lemon on the tip of his tongue. You’d laughed as he all but inhaled the remaining cake, the most genuinely happy laugh he’d heard from you since you’d met. 

He considered this as he watched you chew. 

\--

Loki was staring at you. Really quite intently. He was looking at you as if you’d kicked his very favourite puppy as you swallowed your mouthful. You glanced down at his plate, noticing it was still mostly full, his cutlery disregarded atop his napkin. 

Your Spanish was not wonderful, but you were familiar enough with some of the more common dishes to have a vague idea of the menu’s contents, enough so to give you freedom of choice, safe in the knowledge of what you’d ordered. Loki, however, favoured the ‘point-and-hope’ technique. 

You looked more closely at the contents of his plate. Perhaps he didn’t like fish. 

You thought momentarily back to your trip to the market. Being in a town with a seaport, the seafood was excellent, and you’d wanted Loki to try fresh mussels. 

You almost laughed at the memory of his disgusted response. Perhaps it was the fish. 

Your own - fishless - dish seemed a little more Loki friendly, so you scooped up a forkful of beans and sauce, holding it out towards him. 

He looked at you with complete bewilderment. 

“Try a bit.” You waved the fork in your hand. “You don’t seem keen on yours.” 

“No, it’s fine.” He dismissed you. “The food is good.”

“Then what’s with the staring?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Is there something on my face?” 

“No, no.” He replied. “Just. Thinking.” 

“About what?” You asked, returning your fork to your plate, instead reaching for your wine glass. 

“You.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Me. Life.” 

“Do go on.” You took a sip, savouring the taste as the bubbles slipped down your throat. 

“I was thinking about my mother.” He admitted. “How much she would like it here.” 

“What’s she like?” You asked. “Your mother.” 

“She’s the most wonderful woman in the universe.” He smiled wistfully. “The kindest, the wisest, the cleverest.” 

“So why did you leave?” You continued, intrigued by the sudden nostalgia in his eyes. He had told you virtually nothing about himself or his past, always dismissing it as a matter for another time. 

“Truthfully?” He bit his lip. “I left because I was bored.” 

You leaned back in your chair, mulling this new information over in your mind. 

“When will you go back?” It was a question that had been plaguing you for a week or so. Would he just leave in the night if the mood took him? He had every right to, you knew, but a part of you wished he wouldn’t. You had come to enjoy his presence, to almost cherish his company. For the first time in a long while, you were not alone, and it felt good. Loki irritated you beyond belief - although it hadn’t taken you long to realise that this was fully intentional - and he was just about as stubborn as you were. You bickered constantly, but he had warmed a little part of your heart and you knew you would miss your companion greatly if he decided to sever your paths. 

“Perhaps never.” The look on his face told you he knew exactly why you were asking. “Perhaps tomorrow. I shall decide as the mood takes me.” 

Satisfied that this was the closest to an answer you were ever going to pry from Loki, you lifted your fork to your mouth. As you chewed, you decided to switch up your line of questioning. 

“Tell me more about your mother.” You lifted your arm to rest the weight of your head on your knuckles. “Or your brother. Your childhood home. Your first pet. Anything.” “Do I sense an ulterior motive?” His left eyebrow quirked bemusedly. 

“I have at least eighteen ulterior motives, at all times.” You could not help the smile that came across your face. “But I do struggle to envision you as a child. Or anything other than the unsufferable prick I know you to be, really. Throw me a bone, would you?” 

“So, do you spend a lot of time thinking about me?” He rocked forwards onto his elbows, his eyes glittering with mischief. 

“I should’ve killed you when we first met.” You drawled. 

Loki laughed. A rich, full bodied noise rumbling through his chest and echoing through the warm evening air, his head tipped back as if it simply could not support the weight of his mirth. 

“Alright.” His laughter subsided, reduced to a smile. “What do you wish to know?” 

\-- 

Your sudden interest in Loki’s life had taken him back a little. You had never seemed one for nostalgia, so a sudden fondness for trivial reminiscing about whimsical exploits and innocent mishaps seemed out of character. He wondered what your play was. 

He glanced up at you, at your earnest expression. If you were attempting to extract information from him for personal gain, you were hiding it well. 

“Anything.” You replied. “Everything.”

He paused for a moment, thinking over what you’d said, sifting through his memories, carefully considering his next move. 

He told you stories of sitting in the apple orchard as a boy. He told you stories of playing in lakes, stories of tumbles with his brother, lunches with his mother. He told tales of climbing trees that seemed to stretch higher than the sky and of gazing at stars that seemed to stretch on beyond the edge of the universe. He told you of friends, of past loves, of heartbreaks. 

You hung on his every word as he spoke, your face enthralled. He felt as though he could talk forever just to see the wonder on your face as he told you all the stories a mischievous blue eyed boy could possibly seek to hold. 

“What about pets?” You asked, twirling a lock of your hair around one finger. “Did you ever have one, you know, as a kid?” 

A breath hitched in his throat. He blinked once, not entirely sure how to respond. 

As a teenager, he had indeed had a pet. Well, not a pet, exactly. A stray, a ward, of sorts. A horse. 

He’d been reading in his chambers one day when a servant informed him that the Allfather had summoned him. Assuming himself to be in trouble - as he often was - he had hurried to the throne room. Instead of being reprimanded, however, his father had led him into the palace grounds, saying he had something for him. 

In the stables, there had been a foal. 

No more than a few months old, it stood in the stall, dripping wet and braying pitifully. 

“It has become estranged from its mother.” Odin explained. “Alone, it is not long for this world. It needs love and care if it is to survive.” 

He looked up at his father with confused eyes. 

“With a steady hand, it will grow to be strong and nimble.” He continued. “With the right guidance, he will become a fine companion for a warrior. I believe that hand could be yours, my boy.” 

He looked from his father, to the calf, and back to his father again. Dumbfounded, he felt was the appropriate word. This timid, trembling little creature, a cavalry steed? It was almost laughable. 

“His name is Gustav, for he shall indeed become your staff.” His father followed his line of vision. “A loyal steed is both the most formidable weapon and strongest friend a king could hope to possess. Treat him with love and kindess and he will teach you more than you thought possible in return.” 

And he did. Initially, the foal did not respond well to him. He would not stand near him, would barely look at him, would not even eat whilst he was present. It seemed almost as if it would never grow to trust him, but he tired through, and eventually the horse grew to eat from his hand. It would allow him to brush its mane without kicking out at him, and when Gustav grew strong enough to carry Loki’s weight, he broke him himself - despite the stable master’s constant offers of assistance - leading him all the way to saddling, until finally, he was ready to ride. 

Every day, Loki turned him out, even when the ground was hard and the frost had fallen. Riding soon became his favourite thing, and the sight of the dark prince taking off into the night atop an equally dark stallion became commonplace. Victorious in battle and at peace within the elements, they were nothing short of unstoppable. 

Loki’s carefully built world came crashing down on him when Gustav was shot in the leg. Whilst the wound appeared superficial, it soon got infected and started to poison his blood. He grew weaker with each passing day, and nothing Loki could do would help him.

When Odin told him that Gustav was to be put down, it broke his heart, but never had he expected to be the one delivering the death blow. 

“You must learn to make sacrifices if you are to ever be a strong ruler.” He had told him. “You must cast aside matters of the heart in aid of the greater good.” 

He stroked Gustav’s mane gently, kneeling down in his stall beside where he lay in the dirt. His dark head bent, resting his head on the stallion’s dark nose in a final goodbye. He had practised the spell he had created to end Gustav’s life, intending it to be painless, but he could not have prepared himself for the loss he felt as the life drained from his eyes. 

“It is done.” Was all he’d said as he turned to face his father, unable to make sense of anything he was feeling. 

“You did well, my son.” Odin nodded at him, granting him permission to leave. Thor and Frigga stood a few feet away from the stall, but for once, he did not find their presence comforting. His brother held out a reassuring hand towards him, but he brushed it off as he strode past, head held high. 

He did not turn at any point as he walked back to his chambers, for fear that if he did he would return to Gustav’s lifeless body and weep to the heavens. 

Only once he had returned to his chambers and dismissed the servants that were waiting for his arrival did he allow himself to cry. 

Curled in a ball on the cold stone floor, his long legs drawn into his chest, knees tucked under his chin, Loki, Crown Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief and Lies, wept. 

He wept for the loss of a truly innocent soul, wept for the loss of his truest friend. He wept for the truest, most unconditional love he had ever known, the likes of which he thought he might never know again. 

It was like this that Frigga found him, noiselessly sobbing on the floor, staring into the fireplace with a blank expression on his face.

He glanced up at her as she entered, his face stained with tears, green eyes bloodshot and red rimmed, his bottom lip trembling, a few stray locks of dark hair splaying across his face. 

“Mother.” He croaked, the dying embers of the fire illuminating his face. She hurried over to him, crouching next to his trembling form and throwing her arms around him. He sobbed harder at the feeling of her soft hair against his face, breathing in the sweet smell of her perfume. 

“Oh, my sweet boy.” She murmured, cradling him to her chest. “I am so sorry it had to end this way.” 

She stroked her hand over his hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head as she rocked him back and forth. 

“Your heart is too pure for this cruel world, my sweet, precious boy.” She whispered to him. “ You feel such pain now, my darling, but this storm shall pass and the sun will shine on you once again.” 

Loki wept in his mother’s arms all through the night. When the sun rose, they both departed his chambers to tend to their duties. Eyebrows were raised and hushed rumours spread of the dark prince’s icy heart finally melting, but life went on. 

Loki never spoke of Gustav again, but every time he passed by his stall, his father’s words echoed in his mind. 

_You must cast aside matters of the heart in aid of the greater good._

He would never forget those words as long as he lived. 

“Loki?” Your voice snapped him back to the present. “You good? You spaced out for a minute there.” 

“I’m fine.” He replied. “Yes, I did have a pet once.” 

You looked at him curiously, but decided not to pursue it. 

“Anyway, I told you about me. It’s your turn.” He leaned back in his seat. “I have my own questions.” 

“Ask away.” If you were concerned about what he might ask, your face didn’t show it. 

“Where do you go every morning?” He began. It _had_ been pressing on his mind for some time. 

You choked back a laugh. 

“Is that all?” You scoffed. “If you must know, I go to get coffee and go for a walk. Does that _satisfy_ you?” 

His posture slumped a little in disappointment. He had been hoping for something a little more... _Clandestine._

“Why do you sleep with a gun under your pillow?” He pressed. “What are you so afraid of?” 

Your face hardened almost as soon as the words left his mouth, and he wished he could snatch them back out of the air and swallow them back up. The silence that hung over the table was almost unbearable, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he stared at you. Your expressions were a mask, but he knew you were carefully considering your next words. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

Loki remained silent. He had crossed a line, and you both knew it. 

\--

The walk back to the hotel room was silent and awkward. Loki rubbed at the sleeve of his blue shirt awkwardly, glancing around him. The street was quiet, save for a few other pedestrians, and dark, save for a handful of intermittently placed streetlights. 

You were a few steps ahead of him, your arms crossed at the elbow. You hadn’t spoken since you’d left the restaurant, and he wasn’t really sure what to say. The easygoing nature you had adopted during the day was gone, and you were suspiciously glancing around you. What you were looking for, Loki could not hazard to guess. 

You stopped suddenly, turning to stare behind him, at something in the distance. He opened his mouth to ask if you were okay, when he noticed your bottom lip trembling slightly. 

Whatever you had just seen, had frightened you. 

He reached over to you, rubbing your shoulder with one hand, the other lifting your chin gently. You lifted your gaze to meet his as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb. 

“Are you alright, little one?” His voice was low as to not be overheard. “You look startled.” 

“Let’s just go back to the hotel.” You whispered. 

He nodded in response, slinging one arm over your shoulder. Picking up your pace as much as you could without appearing suspicious, you hurried back to the hotel. You were visibly unnerved, although you tried to hide it. 

Back in your room, you perched on the end of the bed, your shoes clutched in one hand. You rubbed at your nose absentmindedly with the back of your knuckle. 

He called your name but you didn’t seem to hear him. 

“Tell me.” He dropped to his knees in front of you. “What is going on?” 

You wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Whatever is happening,” He continued. “I need to know. What did you see?” 

You closed your eyes before inhaling deeply. 

“I think I’m being trailed.” You whispered, flicking your gaze down to meet his. “Someone, maybe a few people, I don’t know, have been following me. Have been for a few days now.” “Trailed?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“The first time I noticed was in Zaragoza.” You ran a hand through your hair nervously. “There was a man stood behind us when we checked in, just stood there, watching. Then I kept seeing him in the lobby, just milling around, like he was waiting for something. Then I didn’t see him again, and I just assumed I was being paranoid.” 

Loki said nothing. 

“Then when we were in a restaurant one night, I noticed someone else a few tables away, just staring. He had sunglasses on, so I don’t know if it was the same man, but I’ve been seeing people everywhere. Just watching. Watching, and waiting.” 

“Watching for what?” He asked. “Waiting for what?” 

“I don’t know.” You shook your head. 

“But why?” He continued. “Why would someone be following you?” 

You lifted your hands to your face, hiding from his view. 

“Why would someone want to go to such lengths, travel such distance?” His voice dropped. “ _Who_ would want to trail you across a country?” 

Your silence spoke volumes. 

“Do you know who is following you?” He looked up at you. “If you know what is going on, you have to tell me.” 

You rose from the bed, turning your back to him. 

“I’m tired.” You said. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“If we are in danger, and there is something you are not telling me-” His voice raised, his temper flaring. 

“Goodnight, Loki.” You snapped, rolling under the cover. 

He sighed in frustration, climbing onto the bed himself. He lay there, in the dark, for some time, considering your words. Was someone tailing you? Had there been things he missed? Just _how_ had he missed it? His mind spun with a million unanswered questions. 

The longer he considered it, sifting through his own memories of the previous three weeks, the deeper the realisation sunk. You had been right, you were being followed. 

To the unsuspecting mind, it was easy to miss. No average person would pick up on it, but the signs were there. 

People walking a few paces behind you for a kilometre or so before turning off and fading into the distance. The same faces appearing behind you in queues at the _supermercado_ for days on end. Men in dark clothes sitting a little too close at lunch or bumping into you in the street. 

If you weren’t expecting it, it would be easy to miss. Unnoticeable, in fact. 

But that was what Loki found most troubling. You _were_ expecting it. 

He was more certain than he’d ever been that you were hiding something. Something big. 

Being the God of Lies, hiding things and deceiving people was not new to him, nor did it entirely bother him. But whatever your secret was, he was certain it had something to do with the two of you being trailed. It was too much of a coincidence for him to overlook. 

Whoever it was scared you witless, and that frightened him more than anything. 

Queue

Post


	4. Yes, there is a significant difference between kidnapping and gentle persuasion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chekhov's Gun - A literary principle that dictates every element of a fictional work must be related or interlinked to a part of the greater plot in some way. In a dramatic work, nothing should appear to make a 'false promise'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is a week late. It's no excuse, but it was my birthday on Wednesday and I spent a few days on the coast with very dear family and completely forgot about this. I should have chapter 5 up midweek, so chapter 6 should be up next Saturday, bang on schedule. I love you all, I'm so sorry :(  
> As always, kudos and comments make this lil' bitch's day. 
> 
> \- Me

_I've been hanging on the phone_

_I've been sleeping all alone_

_I want to kiss you, sometimes._

_Well, I've been haunted in my sleep_

_You've been starring in my dreams_

_Lord, I miss you tonight._

\--

In his a thousand-and-something years of life, Loki had always struggled to understand the things most people derived pleasure from. 

On Asgard, inhabitants tended to sway towards the inclination that they were above such base idiosyncrasies as were displayed by the mortals, but from where Loki stood, they appeared to be just as bad. Raging battle, feasts that stretched on for days and other celebrations that could easily double that duration. They were no better than the humans, filling the voids in their souls with food or sex or blood. 

Consume, consume, consume. That’s all it ever came down to. 

Since he was a little boy, he had always found his kicks in mischief. It started as little tricks, dropping spiders into the drawers of resident nobles and frightening his mother’s handmaids with snakes. But as he grew, he developed a real affinity for chaos. His father called him a hot head, he shouted back, his mother intervened. The cycle continued for years. 

But as he sat, glaring into the smoky liquid in his glass, he was beginning to understand exactly why people sought to fill a void. 

He’d lain awake all night, his mind firing off nineteen to the dozen. You were being followed, and him by extension. You were in real, tangible, physical danger. The entire night you’d remained curled under the duvet. Possibly asleep, possibly not. Loki had not wanted to check. 

Laying on his back, the soft material of the duvet rubbing against his skin, he had never felt so distanced from you. He’d stared at the ceiling, wondering why it bothered him so much. If he was ever in any real danger, he could simply return to Asgard. 

_Couldn’t he?_

It was this question that he'd been pondering as the rays of the morning sun poured through the window. Your face had had scrunched up as the rays splashed upon your face, as though someone had disturbed you. 

He did not want to admit it, but the groan that you emitted brought a slight smile to his face. His reaction to you rolling on your side and pulling the pillow over your face was, however, completely not up for discussion. 

He'd watched you as you slept, fighting the increasingly bright morning. You'd looked so different. So.. _serene_. 

He'd sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. A shower, he'd thought. Maybe a little walk to clear his head. 

You, however, had other ideas. 

“ _Loki._ ” You'd murmured, stretching out your hand. You'd reached across the bed, flexing your fingers as though you were searching for something. For him. 

\--

“Hey, man, are you alright?” A voice echoed in his ears. Someone was talking to him. 

He blinked down at his drink.

The barman was staring at him, a concerned expression on his face. Loki shook his head, trying to remember what the man had said. 

“Yes. I’m fine.” He replied, rubbing his face. “My mind was otherwise occupied.” 

“I see that, in your eyes.” The man nodded. “You are in a fight with your wife?” 

“Something like that.” He sighed. “She just.. Keeps so much to herself. It drives a wedge between us.” 

“Women. They carry the world on their shoulders, and they say nothing. It is a constant mystery to me.” The other man nodded his head in agreement. “But your wife, she is very beautiful. You are a lucky man, no?” 

Loki grunted in response. 

He lifted his glass to his lips, taking a long gulp. It wasn’t exactly to his taste, but there was some satisfaction to be found in the burn it left in his throat. 

Something about the voice of the gentleman who had served him was oddly comforting, his thickly accented English almost musical, a welcome lullaby to his ever-spinning mind. 

Green eyes stared at him over a cherry-brown bar, glancing down at what remained of the smokey amber liquid in the glass momentarily. 

Green eyes and hair black as the night were easily the defining features of both men, but it was quite remarkable, Loki thought, how two faces could differ so much whilst being so similar. One of those weird little quirks of the universe, he thought. 

“You would like another drink?” The barman asked. “For you, it is with my compliments.” Before he could respond, his glass was lifted out of his reach. The bigger man turned away from him to reach for the bottle, the sound of glass clinking as he poured a hearty glass. Two fingers, you had taught him was how the people of earth measured their stronger spirits, although you always poured him three fingers’ worth, served with a single ice cube and a wink that would easily have a lesser man drop dead where he stood. 

“This is very good of you.” Loki took a sip of his drink as it was set in front of him. 

“It is no problem.” He replied. “I have been in this business long enough to know when a man is in need of... Light relaxation.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” He scoffed, raising his eyebrows. He lifted his hand to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes, but was surprised by how heavy it was, by his own strength. It even felt a little difficult placing it back on the bar with enough care that it wouldn’t dent the wood. 

He shook his head as if to physically cast the heaviness out of his head. 

“If you do not mind my saying so, sir,” The barman continued. “But you should be with your wife, out of trouble.” 

“Yes.” His head felt increasingly heavy. “You’re quite right. I absolutely should.”   
  
At least one of his words was slurred, he knew, but he wasn’t quite sure how many. He was starting to feel really, really dizzy, like his head was full of helium. Drowsy, too. Very, very drowsy.

_Was he drunk?_

No. Not possible. Midguardian alcohol had very little effect on the Aesir, and only in large quantities. 

“It will be over soon.” The barman told him, turning 

What an unusual thing to say, he thought. Perhaps it meant something different in the barman's native language.

He should return to his room, he knew, and lay down for a while, sleep it off. However, he also knew that should he make any attempt to move from his stool, his legs would give out and he would fall flat on his face. 

He was exceptionally confused. What was happening to him? How the fuck was he going to get out of this mess? His head spun, his limbs suddenly growing in weight and dropping to his sides. He felt as if he was chasing his thoughts, but every time he neared something relatively coherent, it would fly away from him. Everything was very slow, like he was swimming through a room filled with golden syrup. 

His body curled in on itself, suddenly unable to keep himself upright. His head lolled to the side, too heavy to hold. He needed to get back to his room, and fast. Using magic to heal himself in front of mortals was far too risky, particularly seeing as you were being tailed. His ethereal abilities were not something he wanted to alert his - _or your_ \- enemies of. 

The barman. If only he could alert the barman, he could possibly help him at least into the lift. But how best to summon him? Loki was not entirely sure he could muster up the strength to verbally communicate in any way, let alone anything coherent. 

He dragged his heavy head from his chest, squinting at the white rectangle secured to the barman’s dark shirt. It was a nametag, he was sure, but his vision was too hazy to make out even one of the hastily scrawled characters on it. 

His consciousness began to slip away from him, just out of his reach. Drops of sweat rolled down his spine, pooling at the small of his back, as a horrible realisation dawned on him.

 _Poison._ He had been poisoned. 

Loki, Crown Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief, Chaos and Lies, had been poisoned by a _morta_ l. 

_Fucking brilliant._

His body involuntarily slumped against the bar as he fought to remain conscious, his mind racing. _How?_ How had he unknowingly consumed it? 

His hand dropped against the wooden bar with a loud thud, splashing something cold and unpleasantly wet against his hand. 

_The drink. The poison was in the drink._

He dragged his gaze up to where the barman was stood, watching him but unable to meet his gaze. 

“ _You._ ” He hissed, consciousness drawing away with every laboured, painful breath. The world seemed to spin and twirl as his eyes rolled back into his head, whirling and blurring and changing in front of his very eyes. 

The floor was suddenly a very, very deep blue. It seemed to be almost rippling, curling in on itself and suddenly crashing, dispersed back to nothing. 

Bright lights shot across his vision, vividly coloured and layering on top of each other. They were building something, he realised, something brilliant and sparkling, comprised of every colour the visual spectrum of light had to offer. Something strangely familiar. 

_The bifrost._

Somehow, he was staring down at the bifrost from a great - _but rapidly lessening_ \- height. He was falling, at an incredible speed, onto the bifrost. 

And he wasn’t alone. 

Someone was traipsing towards him, carrying something quite enormous. Whatever they were carrying was dripping something onto the rainbow bridge, leaving a trail of dark puddles in their wake. 

He squinted at the mysterious figure as they neared. They were tall, he noticed, and dishevelled, coated with some sort of dust and something that looked unpleasantly like blood. It clung to their skin, and matted their hair. Their _long, dark hair._

Loki realised with a start that the man staggering towards him, was in fact, himself. Or a version of himself, at least. He was battered and bruised, his face ashen and sunken. Every single step he took looked as if he were about to keel over and collapse, but there was a determination in his eyes, as if he would die before abandoning whatever he had made his mission. 

Quite frankly, he looked terrible. 

The clothes his other-self was wearing were unusual, like nothing Loki had ever worn in his millennia of life. Heavily soled black boots stretched up to his knees, a furry coat of sorts adorning his upper body. The fur, much like his hair, was a matted, bloody mess. 

_Was it his blood, or someone else’s?_

You were draped across him, your body dangling lifelessly from his arms. Your exposed skin was pallid, almost waxy, as if there had been no blood flowing to it in some time. Your features were almost indiscernible, if not from how bashed up your face was, but from the thick layer of blood that trailed down your neck. Your head lolled with every step his other self took, weak and fragile like a ragdoll. 

A deep blue substance was gushing from the wound on your side, dribbling onto the bridge and leaving the puddles he had earlier noticed. The other Loki was absolutely drenched in it, the leather of his boots stained. Behind him lay a trail of footsteps as deep blue in colour as the ocean raging below them. 

_What had happened here? Why was he seeing this? How was he seeing this?_

The scene before him began to fade, and he was falling again.

_Falling, falling, plunging into the nothingness below._

As the world faded to black, sound filled his mind. Shouting, chanting even, echoing through the walls of his mind. 

_Long live the queen.  
_

_Long live the queen._

_Long live the queen._

It felt like thousands of voices were yelling inside his mind. Such was the might, the sheer enormity of the cry, that if felt as if it might be coming from the very core of the planet itself. 

“I am sorry. I wish it did not have to be this way.” Was all he heard before the world around him turned to black. 

\--

You rubbed at your face with your hands, letting out a deep sigh as you pushed yourself off the edge of the bed. The window ledge was quickly becoming your favourite perch, somewhere you liked to sit and think, and it was here you were headed for now. 

The morning light poured onto the streets below you, basking the white-washed walls in a warm glow. The cobbled streets wound and twisted through the city, trickling down to meet the sea. 

_“You’ve been here before.” Loki had said, a small smile on his face as you had glanced out the window for the first time.  
_

_“Maybe once.” You’d replied. “A lifetime ago.”  
_

_He’d glanced at you curiously, but pressed no further._

You didn’t view the people below in the same way anymore. You studied each of them carefully, waiting for one to look back at you for just a second too long. 

In all honesty, it was making you properly edgy.

You cast your eyes to where the other half of the bed lay rumpled. _Loki’s_ side. You felt bad about the row you’d had the night before, about the silent morning you’d shared. He’d been sat on the edge of the bed, watching you as you woke. As you opened your eyes, his head had snapped away as if your gaze had burned him. You snuck off for your coffee not too long after. That day, of all days, you needed a little time to yourself. It should have been peaceful, sat with your coffee, staring out to the sea, pondering what had happened. 

You were being tailed, and you hated it. Every single person who brushed against you on the street, everyone who looked at you for just a second too long, made you jittery. Every thought was second guessed, every step matched with a glance behind your shoulder. It wasn’t even as if this was new - you had spent so long ducking every time a police car went past, heart lurching every time someone leaned towards you. Even when you slept, you were on high alert, waiting for someone to burst in and open fire. Some days, you wished someone would just stab you and get it over with. Maybe then, you could be at peace. 

You’d snapped at him, and that, you regretted. But your agreement existed purely because it was mutually beneficial, and that left no room for emotional honesty. He knew his place, and he was just as aware as you when he overstepped it. 

Did you trust him? Not in the fucking slightest. Did you _want_ to trust him? About as much as you wanted to bath in baked beans. 

Did you feel bad about hurting him? Possibly. 

He had been gone for some time. He’d swept out of the room in that dramatic Loki-way, storming off down the corridor. But that was three hours ago, and no matter how sulky he was, he should’ve returned by now. 

You hit the button for the ground floor in the lift, waiting for the doors to shut. He wouldn’t go too far, you knew. He just liked to keep his distance where he deemed it necessary. 

You could never work him out. He was so straightforward, yet so complex. Loki was a mystery unto his own right, and not one you were sure you wanted to unravel. 

\--

The first thing you noticed upon stepping into the bar was how quiet it was. You’d always seen at least ten people in there. 

In the morning, there would always be someone sat in an armchair so large it seemed to envelope its user, quietly munching on a croissant oozing with jam. Couples, friends and business associates would be scattered across the terrace, sipping coffees and discussing their plans. 

The evening brought guests in greater numbers to the bar. Husbands perched at the bar, swilling liquors in tumblers while they waited for their wives. Ladies in their finery, savouring cocktails and later downing champagne. 

The air was almost always thick with tobacco smoke and chatter. Almost everything went unnoticed, from the barstaff secretly pocketing cash to clandestine conversations between hidden lovers. It was the perfect place to hide in plain sight. 

It was certainly unusual to see it completely and utterly empty. Your brow furrowed as your gaze swept the room, searching for even a single person. You never found them. Not even a single barman or concierge. 

_Weird_ , you thought. Definitely not right. 

No Loki either. Also weird. He wouldn’t just leave without telling you. Perhaps you had just missed him on your way down and he was back in your room. Perhaps he could tell you where everyone was. 

You turned on your heel, stepping back into the lift. It whirred into life, lifting off the ground with a loud thunk. You leaned against the wall, wondering what you would say to him when you saw him. You might even apologise.

Three strides covered the gap between the lift and the door. The _unlocked_ door. 

You had definitely locked it on your way out.

And Loki wouldn’t leave it unlocked.

You reached under your skirt, freeing your handgun from its constraints. The feeling of it in your hand made you feel safe, as you racked it as silently as you could. You slid the door open, your gun in your hand. If someone was in your room that wasn’t Loki, you’d blow their fucking brains out. 

Somebody was sat on your bed. Someone who was, decidedly, _not_ Loki. 

They were broadly built, - broader so than Loki - with dark hair framing vividly green eyes. 

If you did’t know any better, you would’ve killed him as you stood. But you did, so, you fired three warning shots.

“ _Dios mia, nena._ ” Came the response. “You have not changed in the slightest.” 

“ _Bela_.” You breathed. “You are _not_ here.” 

“I am as real as you.” He smiled. “ _Mi querida._ ” 

He stepped towards you, holding out a hand. 

“You cannot be here.” You blinked at him. “You’re.. You’re..” 

“Dead?” He grinned. “It seems I am not. Which you would know, of course, if you had stuck around long enough to find out.” 

You rubbed your forehead, pushing past the man in front of you to sit on the edge of your bed. You needed a minute. 

“How did you even get in here? Why are you here?” You felt a little dizzy. All was, decidedly, not well. 

“I have my ways.” He replied. “Anyway, I’m not here to seek vengeance, _avecita_. Your life is quite safe.” 

You glanced at him. It had been so long since you had seen his face, it was almost bittersweet.

“Why are you here, Bela?” You spat.

“I come only to bring a message.” He lifted his chin defiantly. “Senor De Amas requests your presence.” 

Your heart felt as if it had come to a standstill. Everything felt as if it had paused. Your past had caught up with you. Every syllable of that wretched sentence, every cell in this man’s body was living proof of everything you’d done, everything you’d fought so hard so hard to escape from. You’d run so far, but every step had stretched your invisible bungee a little further. It should not have come as a shock to you that it would snap right back and bring you hurtling back with it. 

“So what if he fucking does?” You replied. “He holds nothing over me.” 

You leaned back nervously, unbuckling your shoes. You clutched them by the straps, bringing them up to your chest. Did he have anything over you? You weren’t sure, but you were trying your damndest not to show your uncertainty. 

“Senor De Amas has a prize.” He shuffled uncomfortably, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “For you. He said it might capture your interest. Or rather, he might capture your interest.” 

You sat back for a second, pondering what Bela had said. You knew this man, knew what he was like. A prize, you thought. What fucked up, twisted game would you have to play to win? 

At what cost would you obtain your trophy? 

“I’m not interested in his games.” You looked away, glancing at the window frame. You’d played these games many, many times before. In the end, nobody won, the variation being solely the scale of what you lost. For some, losing the game meant losing their life. 

“You will be interested in this prize.” He called. “He went to great lengths to get it for you. Annoying lengths, you might say.” 

You glanced over your shoulder. What did Bela say? That ‘ _he’_ might interest you? 

You did not care about people, and intentionally so. Caring about someone gave him leverage over you and jeopardised them. You did not keep the company of anyone you wouldn’t leave in thirty seconds if you felt the heat creeping up. 

Or did you? 

“Loki.” You whispered, turning to face Bela. “Where have you taken him?” 

“I have taken him nowhere.” He raised his hands up in front of him, a gesture of defence. “The same could not be said for others.” 

“Well, do what you like.” Your words burned your throat. “ I don’t care what happens to him.” 

You would get Loki out some other way, you decided. You owed him that much. But you were no use to him if you were dead, you reasoned, and partaking in this morbid power play would likely find you both in an unmarked grave. 

“If you look into your heart, I expect it will tell you that is not its truth.” Bela’s voice was soft. Soothing, even. “You forget how well I know you. I can tell when you are lying.” 

You said nothing. 

“If you will tell me that you do not care what happens to him, and you _are_ telling me the truth, I will walk away from here and let you go.” He walked over to where you were sat on the bed, kneeling down so your eyes were roundabout level. “And I will pray that Senor De Amas is feeling merciful.” 

You closed your eyes, considering your options. Would you get to Loki before _he_ did? It was a risk you couldn’t chance. 

“I’ll come with you.” You sighed. What choice did you really have? You couldn’t risk Loki’s life. After all, if he’d not gotten himself mixed up with you, he would be perfectly safe. **(Authors’ Note: _the fucking irony._** ) 

Bela smiled brightly at you, a smile that unsettled you right down to the pit of your stomach. You took a moment to strap your shoes back on, a moment you were sure would be your last second of clarity - of sanity - for some time to come, if not for the rest of your life. 

“He is annoying.” Bela mused as you rose to your feet, your ankles wobbling with anxiety in your heels. 

“You’ve met him then.” You grumbled, walking over to him. You were trying to convey confidence, but you suspected you weren’t really fooling anyone. 

“He talks too much.” He continued, holding an arm out for you to take. “Far, far too much. I see that you have this in common.” 

“Fuck off, Bela.” You scowled, swatting his arm away. You would make your own way, no matter how wobbly you were in your heels. You did not need his help. 

“You will never change, _avecita_.” Was all Bela responded with. 

His laughter was all you heard, echoing through the corridor as you stepped out into it. 

_Good Lord, what had you gotten yourself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop whoop, bitches, the plot of this is travelling at Freddie Mercury-esque speeds. Spoiler, the next chapter slams on the brakes visa vi plot. Soz, huns.  
> This one gets a bit mysterious though. Any and all guesses are welcome, folks. The response to the last chapter made me cry like the soft little baby I am.  
> Also, Bela's speech pattern is based on my dad's. He *is*, by law, a British Citizen, but his English is clearly not native (Read - shocking).
> 
> P.S BBC Merlin watchers might get the feels during this.


	5. Don't think of it as crime, think of it as 'obeying alternate laws'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The midweek chapter, as promised! We're now back on track, returning to service as usual. I am SO EXCITED for the next chapter, but this one really hits the brakes on the plot. 
> 
> As ever, kudos and feedback are so appreciated. 
> 
> \- Me

_Jung the foreman prayed at work  
Neither hands nor limbs would burst  
It's hard enough to keep formation with this fall out saturation, cursing at the astronette who stands in steel by his cabinet  
He's crashing out with Sylvian  
The bureau supply for aging men  
With snorting head he gazes to the shore  
Once had raised a sea that raged no more  
Like the video films we saw_

_His name was always buddy  
And he'd shrug and ask to stay  
She'd sigh, like twig the wonder kid,  
And turn her face away._

_\--_

The first thing Loki noticed when he woke, was the banging in his head. He was unaware of how long he’d slept for, yet it felt like his consciousness was banging on the inside of his skull. A knock for every minute he’d been passed out. 

His mind raced as his eyes adjusted to the bright morning light. What had happened? Where was he? Why did his head hurt so? 

His mind attempted to dredge up memories it couldn’t quite remember, fragments of events, but not quite enough to pull together a cohesive timeline. 

Loki pushed himself up on his elbows, surveying his surroundings. Wherever he had found himself, it was certainly plush.

He lay - _thankfully, not naked_ \- between many, many layers of thick cotton sheets, his head propped up by countless fluffy pillows. Whilst initially disturbing, he’d eventually come to realise that the drapes adorning all four posts of the bed he’d awoken in were to keep out bugs, and other nasty creatures that might wish to feast on him as he slept. 

He slung his legs to the side of the bed, parting the drapes as he rose to his feet,. Next to the bed sat a small, deep brown table, bearing only a glass that appeared to be - after a sniff - simply water. Both the glass and the table looked to be expensive, and he again wondered where exactly he was. 

Still, he was over a thousand years old, and it wasn’t the first time he’d woken somewhere completely unfamiliar. 

The plush bed sat at the centre of a vast, spacious room. It was airy, something Loki was thankful for (It was at least thirty degrees) but not entirely surprised by, and bright, the morning sun shining through the curtains to his very far left. 

In the corner of the room sat a chest of draws. Curiosity got the better of Loki, so he opened one to discover a mass of cotton shirts in soft pastels. Its sibling draw contained largely chinos in complimentary colours, and he realised with a start that these muted tones and casual linens had been purposefully selected for him. He’d wondered exactly _how_ long someone had been watching him to be able to discern the clothing that might suit him, but the thought had given him the creeps, so it was promptly discarded from his mind. 

Atop the chest of drawers, he’d found a small bottle. It had taken - _inadvertently_ \- spraying it on himself to discover it was a _liquid scent_ , of some kind. Removing the lid, he’d found quite easy, but he’d been most shocked to find that pressing the top resulted in his face being squirted. It smelled nice, he found, but the taste was not so pleasant. 

  
With his pounding head in mind and his bizarre surroundings in mind, he’d retreated to the bed he’d awoken in. Whoever’s house he had wound up in could wait, as far as he was concerned. 

As he settled himself amidst endless layers of duck down quilts and slippery silk throw blankets, he pondered your whereabouts. He could not remember what had happened, so he was unsure of your exact involvement with it. Were you here somewhere? Were you the one who had brought him here? 

His mind brought him no answers as he slowly drifted into complete blackness. 

\-- 

“Hello? Sir?” Loki was vaguely aware of a voice calling him. The weight of a hand rested on his arm, shaking him gently. 

He squinted, cracking open one eye. The brightness of the light made him flinch, raising a hand to his face to block the sun’s rays. He sat up, pleased to find the pounding in his head had somewhat diminished.

A giggle came from somewhere to his left. A feminine giggle. 

Was it you? 

He called your name, blinking the light out of his eyes. More giggling. 

“I don’t know who that is, but I’ve just come to tell you your bath is ready.” The same voice continued. He dragged his palm down his face, turning to follow the voice. 

Two young women stood next to the bed he’d collapsed on, simply dressed in black cotton dresses. The younger of the two - eighteen, maybe nineteen, he thought - stood about two feet away from him. She was around average height, a plain faced slip of a girl with delicate hands and wrists. She hid behind a curtain of mousy hair, but through the thick strands Loki could see a blush rapidly spreading across her pale cheeks and down her neck. If he looked closer, he could see a light dusting of freckles across her nose, something that reminded him of you. 

The older girl - though only by a few years, by the look of her - stood significantly closer to him. She was tall and lithe, dark and perfectly coiffed curls carefully arranged over her collarbone. The smile on her face grew as Loki’s eyes rose her body, settling on her eyes, dark and seductive. 

The mousy girl exploded into nervous giggles, and he frowned in confusion, looking down. 

Right. Shirtless. 

He glanced back at the brunette, stretching his arms out lazily in front of him.

“Can I help you?” He raised one eyebrow. 

“Your bath is ready.” She all but purred. 

Huh. A bath did sound good, he thought. He’d get his answers once he’d washed the sweat off his body and the smell of whiskey out of his hair. Loki swung his legs out of the bed, rising up to his feet. He glanced towards the door in the corner of the room, noting with some panic that the jeans he was still wearing were riding extremely low on his hips. 

The mousy girl looked like she was about to pass out. 

He was about three strides closer to the bathroom when a small hand grabbed at his wrist. The brunette stood behind him, her head cocked coyly to one side. 

“Sometimes I help the Senor unwind.” She bit her lip coyly. “I could help you too, if you like.” 

A grin spread across his face. His mouth opened, an enthusiastic agreement about to roll off his tongue, when her face suddenly flickered. 

_Somebody else did exactly that, head tilt and all, when they were asking him to do something they knew he wouldn’t necessarily be thrilled by._

He blinked, willing your face out of his mind. He lifted his hand, cradling the brunette’s face between his thumb and forefinger. Mortals were so tiny, he thought. So breakable. 

“Another time, I shall take you up on that. I am, after all a man with a great many concerns, and an even greater love for.. _Unwinding_.” He dipped his head to murmur in her ear. “But for now, I wish simply to wash.” 

She preened under his touch, her long eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks with his every word. He rose back up to his full height, an extremely smug sense of satisfaction growing within him. He dropped her face with a delicate swipe of his thumb across her jaw. 

“Girls.” He winked by way of goodbye as he turned, striding towards the bathroom. As much as he was enjoying winding them both up, the younger girl looked as if she had stopped breathing and he did not want to be scooping her up of the floor, should she collapse. 

\-- 

  
You scoffed in sheer disbelief at the vehicle sat on the pavement in front of you. 

It was bright, glaringly red and polished to such a degree that you were sure that if the sun hit it in just the right spot, it would be visible from the moon. Its’ wheels were comically small compared to its monstrously hulking body, and one of the headlights almost seemed to be winking at you. An angular panel stuck out from behind the cab, fins so needlessly large that you half expected it to take flight. 

You turned to face Bela, your disdain for the car clear in your face. 

“That’s inconspicuous.” You drawled. “Had they run out of horse drawn carriages or something? Who does he think he is, a pimp?” 

“I had forgotten how deeply irritating I find you.” He replied, his face blank of any emotion. “Get in the car before I run you over.” 

You scowled, stepping off the pavement and rounding the car. The car door swung open with a thunk, and you ducked to climb into the passenger seat. Despite the enormity of its exterior, the cab was remarkably small and cramped. 

“Well, this is comfortable.” You muttered, tucking your knees up as Bela slid into the drivers’ side. 

“Consider yourself lucky. The boss made a request for me to handcuff you.” He replied. “So, do me a favour and keep your pretty little mouth shut.”   
  
“What are you expecting me to say? Thank you?” You raised your eyebrows. You would begrudgingly co-operate if it kept Loki alive, but you were not going to be nice about it. 

“You know, _mi querida_ , there was a time that you called me your only friend.” He turned to glare at you. 

“You must’ve dreamt it.” You snapped back. A noise escaped his mouth, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. 

“You may recall that I risked my life for you, once upon a time.” His voice was low, a slight touch of threat lingering in the air. “The least you could do is be quiet.” 

You glared at him for a second, contemplating returning a snarky quip. Your gaze settled on his hands, which were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his scarred knuckles looked as if they might explode through his skin at any given moment. 

You hadn’t considered that maybe he wasn’t all that thrilled to see you, either.

You shifted in your seat, lifting your head so you held your chin stubbornly as you turned away from him. The engine roared as the car flew down the road, the tarmac underneath you slipping into an endless grey blur, your old life slipping away with the dim lights of the city. Fear sat uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. Over the past two years, you’d not once relived a single one of those terrible moments, but here you were, moving towards them with incredible - probably illegal - speed. Death was the furthest thing from your mind, for you were about to find yourself within the web of someone who got their kicks from constructing things far, _far_ worse. 

You sat in uncomfortable silence for nearly an hour, watching the world go by out the window. Only after the thirtheenth mile of fields, when you’d started to grow sick of the colour green, did Bela break the silence. 

  
“Who is he, anyway?” His voice was soft. “The guy.” 

You were so shocked at the sudden question that you dropped your knees. You’d been hugging them to your chest for the last hour. The cramping had passed after about fifteen minutes, but you were fairly certain it was only due to your circulation being cut off by your tight grip. 

“He’s.. He’s an acquaintance.” You replied. 

“A partner?” He continued, not taking his eyes off the road. You furrowed your brow, confused about the sudden inquisition. 

“No.” You said. “Well, we have an arrangement. It benefits us both.” 

“I see.” He glanced over to you. “I am surprised anybody can put up with you.” 

“Hey!” You complained, scowling at the harsh comment. If you’d been confused before, you were completely lost now. 

“I only joke, _nena_.” He glanced across at you, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I too have had your company for a long time. After a while, you become more tolerable.” 

You opened your mouth to voice your indignance, but all that came out was a laugh. Small, but a laugh all the same. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bela fighting back a grin. 

“I guess I never did get the chance to thank you for what you did, did I?” You asked. 

“I did not think I would ever see you again.” His voice was quiet. “If I did, I would not have done it.” 

You averted your eyes, unable to meet his gaze. You pulled your knees back up to your chest and returned to watching the road, feeling the same tension that had been present before settle over the flamboyant car. 

\-- 

If the bedroom had been extravagant, there were no words for the bathroom Loki had stepped to. Even by Asgardian standards, it was rather large. A polished brass bath large enough to swim in sat in the centre of the room. Steam rose from the hot water, upon which sat a layer of bubbles so thick that they looked as if they might overflow. He grinned, shimmying out of his trousers and stepping into the bath. 

Damn, it felt good to be clean. Well, cleaner.

He splashed his face with water, sifting through his memories in an attempt to piece together what had happened. 

He remembered being sat at the bar. He remembered talking to the barman, although not what they had discussed, he even remembered face planting the bar - which, he reckoned, might explain the headache - but he could not string the events together. 

He lay back in the water, allowing the suds to soak into his hair. The hot water was relaxing, the sweet smell of jasmine and cloves filling his nose and lulling him into drowsiness. 

Drowsiness. Why did that tug on his mind so? It remained there, like an itch in his brain that would not be scratched. 

Irritated, he scrubbed at his scalp with his fingertips. The stench of alcohol clung to his hair, almost as if it was goading him, and he could not wait to be rid of it. 

Once he had soaked enough, he climbed out of the bath. Somehow, he didn’t feel so relaxed anymore. He towelled himself dry, wrapping the wet material around his waist as he stepped back into the bedroom. 

He rifled through the clothes in the draws, selecting a pair of tan coloured trousers and a deep blue shirt. Running the towel through his dripping hair, he bent down to retrieve the belt from his discarded jeans when something caught his eye. A small piece of paper sat atop his bedside table, next to his water glass. 

Curious nature getting the better of him, he unfolded it, peering closer at the contents. It was a handwritten note, he realised, one ‘cordially inviting’ him to dinner, with who was presumably his host. It only served to confuse him further, but he was hungry and slightly impressed by the theatrics of it all. His water had been replaced with a richly coloured liquor, one he was only too happy to take a long sip of. It would settle his nerves, he reckoned. 

The smoky liquid fell onto his tongue, slipping down his throat, a burning trail left from the tip of his tongue in its wake. He savoured the sensation. By Midguardian standards, it was good, Irish whiskey. Expensive. 

Half clothed, with the smoky sensation still tingling on his lips, that was when it hit him. 

Memories barrelled into him with all the might of a small bus, his jaw swinging open with shock. He wasn’t even aware that the glass had slipped from his grip until he heard it shattering on the marble floor. 

_The bar. The drink. The barman_. It was all coming back to him. 

_Loki, Crown Prince of Asgard, God of Lies, Mischief and Chaos, had been roofied and kidnapped._

It was not, however, the first time, although the plush bed he’d woken in was arguably better than where he had awoken the last time. 

A gentle breeze rustled through Loki’s hair as he strolled through the corridor. His host’s flair for the theatrical was displayed throughout the house, from the - _and he wished he was joking_ \- polished stone arches to the golden veins running through the floor under his feet. Two wooden doors were held open, leading him into the dining room. 

Windows stretched from floor to ceiling, presenting him with an idyllic view of the rolling tide below. Under different circumstances, he imagined it would be a rather pleasant place to enjoy a chilled glass of wine, a sentiment that he seemed to share with the only other person in the room. 

The man - who he assumed was his host - was facing the window, a tall glass of something fizzy sat next to him. He turned when he heard Loki’s footsteps, a broad grin spreading across his face. 

“Ah! There you are.” He greeted. “I must say, you do look rather well.” 

Loki continued towards him, pulling out the chair opposite and settling down on it. It was, contrary to its appearance, rather uncomfortable. 

“Mr Slater.” He replied. “This is a pleasant surprise.” 

He wasn’t entirely sure who he was expecting, but he wasn’t thrilled to see Roger Slater again. The grin on his face didn’t falter as he stretched his thin legs in front of them, crossing one over the other on the dining table. 

“Oh, please. Call me Roger, none of that formal rubbish.” He waved a dismissive hand at Loki. “I do apologise for all that business with the, well, you know, old chap, but you did not strike me as a fellow who would come quietly. Champagne?” 

_‘You know, business’?_

Loki could only imagine he was referring to the fact that he had had him kidnapped. 

“Quite.” Loki forced a smile onto his face. “And yes, if you please.” 

With a lazy shove, the green glass bottle was sent spinning across the table, coming to a halt by his elbow. He poured himself a hearty glass, taking a long sip as he glanced around him. Where were you? Where was he? 

“I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here.” Roger began. “You see, our first encounter had me in a little turmoil. I could not place your lady friend, but I knew I had previously met you. So, a friend of mine did me a little favour and kept tabs on you both. She and I had some business dealings through a mutual associate some while ago, and I thought you could both be too valuable to pass up.” 

Loki blinked. 

You’d had business dealings with this man? Why hadn’t you told him? 

Not for the first time, Loki wondered how well he knew you at all. You’d hidden this, what else were you hiding? Did he even know your real name? 

“So I’m in your home to assist you with your.. Business?” He raised one eyebrow. 

“My home?” The other man laughed. “Goodness, this is not my home.” 

“No.” A voice from behind them made both men turn. “It is mine.” 

He squinted, trying to get a better look at the third man. His presence was physically domineering, powerful and strong. Jet black hair neatly slicked away from his face, a sharp contrast to his tan skin. His face was all angles, from his sharp jaw, to the square brow. His nose, however, was slightly wonky, as if it had been broken. 

Something slightly sinister glittered behind cold blue eyes as they swept Loki’s form, a smile curving his lips. 

“I believe a welcome is in order for our esteemed guest.” His voice was quiet. “My name is Matej, although I am informed that the help refer to me as the Senor.” 

“You’re just in time.” Roger remained unpleasantly cheery. “Had you been five minutes later we would quite possibly have finished the champagne.” 

“Thoughtful as ever, Slater.” His host pulled out the chair next to him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Loki. I have been awaiting your company for some time now.” 

Loki smiled uncomfortably. 

“So I’ve heard. Mr Slater here was just filling me in.” He said. “Although, I must ask, seeing as my acquaintance was mentioned. Is she here already?” 

“Ah, yes. Your partner.” The smile on Matej’s face was deeply unsettling. “She is on her way. In fact, I do believe she should be with us before nightfall.” 

He wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but something about the idea of you being in the company of this man, of you being within this house, frightened Loki to his core. 


	6. A game of two swords is always great fun - until, of course, it isn’t.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter, y'all. I promise there will be more from the reader's perspective the further along we move, but I'm finding it a little difficult to delve into the psyche & innermost thoughts of someone without revealing all their secrets (And there are plenty). Also, a little note on the business with the watches - it's a real thing! (Watch me get banned for teaching people little schemes)
> 
> Hope you enjoy, if you do please consider dropping some feedback/kudos! 
> 
> \- Me

_So, wear me like a locket around your throat_

_I’ll weigh you down,_

_I’ll watch you choke._

_You look so good in blue,_

_You look so good in blue._

\--

Loki had always loved the sea, ever since he was a boy. He loved the cool splash of the water against his skin, the gentle sting of the salt against his skin as he laid out on the sand to let the sun dry his skin. 

He’d splashed about with Thor as kids, and as a teenager had begun every day with a bracingly cold swim. As a young man, when he’d had his first tastes of love, he’d rushed down to a secret cove of an evening, whiling hours away with shy kisses until the tide rushed in around his ankles. 

If he closed his eyes, he could still taste the curious lips on his, soft and wet with salt. 

If he closed his eyes, he could still hear his mother’s voice. 

“No, not that one.” Her voice was soft and comforting as she knelt down next to him. “A round one, smooth and flat. Try this one.” 

He looked up at his mother as she pressed the stone into his outstretched hands, his eyes big and confused. She smiled warmly in return, cupping his small hands in her much larger ones. 

“The key to skimming is to find the right stone, Loki.” She told him. “With the right stone, everything else will fall into place. Go ahead, try again.” 

He’d been on the pebbled shore for hours, fruitlessly tossing stones at the water’s smooth surface. Only the day before he’d seen his mother gracefully slinging them, amazed by how the rock had glided along the surface before sinking to the depths below. He’d run down, eager to do it himself, but every attempt so far had washed away into the waves. Thor had gotten bored remarkably quickly, preferring to grab handfuls of seaweed - anything he could get his little mitts on, really - and dump them back into the water, but Loki had a little more patience than his brother. He’d rolled his trousers up and plunged into the icy water, chased the first few lost pebbles, but they had rushed away from him. 

His mother had joined him some hours later, when he was cold to the bone and his skin whipped raw by the cold wind. His trousers were still wet to the knees from running after his lost stones, his eyes brimming over with frustrated tears. 

Her hand was gentle on Loki’s arm, curving it at the crook of his elbow, adjusting his stance so he fell forwards on his right foot. They both laughed quietly as the stone under his left heel dislodged, sending him sprawling. Frigga helped him back to his feet, urging him to return to his position and try again. He swung his arm as per her instruction, his heart in his throat as the pebble spun from his hand, gliding towards the water. It skimmed the water for a few seconds, bouncing gently as it hit the swell, before dropping into the water again.   
  
His heart sunk all the way into the sand beneath his feet. 

He turned back towards his mother, his head hanging. 

“It’s okay, Loki. Give it another go.” She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It will come with practise. Turn to it with an open heart, my boy, and you will find yourself pleasantly surprised.” 

Loki blinked, his mother’s voice fading from his eyes. He glanced around him, at the restaurant he was in. Frigga would love it, he thought. He would have to bring her, sometime. Come to think of it, he had been to a lot of places on Midgard that he would love to revisit with the queen. 

He was on top of a building somewhere, he knew that much. An enormous white umbrella shaded his face from the sun, the same blinding white as the wicker chair he was sat in, the same blinding white as the crisp white shirts of the servers. From where he was sat, he could see the entirety of the city below him, all the way out to where the sea met the horizon. 

“How do you like Greece, Loki?” His company asked him. 

“Hot.” Loki answered, plucking an olive off his plate and dropping it into his mouth. “Very hot.” 

Roger laughed. 

“Yes, I suppose it is rather warm compared to the motherland.” He remarked. “I do tire of the English rain.” 

Loki’s mouth made an unusual grunting noise of its own accord, his brain unsure of how to respond. Normally, if you were there, you would deflect any questions about Loki’s place of origin. Not that you actually knew, of course, but you were nothing if not tact. 

He leaned back in his seat, lifting his water glass to his lips. In front of him sat some sort of pastry dish, fragrantly smelling and oozing syrup onto the porcelain. In the last hour, he had eaten no less than seven courses, and more dishes than he could count. From some sort of large green leaf, to grilled peppers and charcoal blistered tomatoes - for some reason, all stuffed with feta cheese, _not_ that he was complaining - his taste buds had been well and truly blown, before being drowned in enormous amounts of coffee. 

Still, Loki had an extremely sweet tooth and he was not one to be bested by dessert. 

Roger watched bemusedly as Loki lifted the sticky, bite sized morsel to his mouth, stirring not one but _three_ sugars into his espresso. 

They’d come to this restaurant so that it might be explained to him exactly why he had been _removed_ from his previous situation and exactly what he had been _removed_ to do. Dinner last need had been an unusual event, to say the least, and no matter how hard he tried he could not get a read on his host. He was polite, well spoken, and if the lunch was anything to go by, extremely generous. But his smile never reached his eyes, a nefarious glint amidst a cold steel-blue gaze. 

Pleasant as he had appeared, Loki could well imagine that anyone who wound up on his bad side should expect a sticky and most unpleasant end. 

Loki was not bothered. If at any point he found himself in over his head, he could simply ‘zap’ - as you had once so eloquently put it - himself away. 

Damn. There you were, back again, niggling at his thoughts. 

The estimate had been that you would arrive in the night, but it appeared as if you had not. He wondered if you, too, had been kidnapped or if you knew these people well enough to come willingly. 

“Are you going to tell me what I’m doing here?” He asked. “Or should I continue eating my dessert?” 

Roger placed his small copper cup back down on the tabletop, a laugh that sounded like a cough - equally, it could’ve been a cough that sounded like a laugh, Loki supposed - escaping his thin lips. 

“Directness is a quality Matej approves of. I get the feeling that you will do well with us, boy.” He leaned forwards on his elbows, his voice dropping to a little short of a whisper. “When I told you I was in the jewellery trade, it wasn’t untrue. I deal in watches, to be more specific.” 

Loki mirrored the unpleasant man’s body language, leaning in closer. 

“Tell me, have you ever moved a large sum of money across international borders?” 

“I can’t say I have.” Loki’s mind whirred, attempting to piece together the rest of this unusual scheme. Surely, money laundering was where this conversation was leading, but what use would he be? And how did watches fit into it?

“No, I don’t suppose you’d have had the need to. It’s a little tricky, you see. Lots of questions about how you obtained it, and taxes and other silly nonsense.” Roger waved a hand dismissively. “Matej deals with many people who do not feel the need for all that bother or who would rather there were far less questions on where it came from. Are you with me, Loki?”

He nodded curtly. 

“Good. So, there are many ways to get around that, if you have the inclination or just know the right people. That’s where I come in.” He sipped at his coffee. “My watches are often worth thousands of pounds. Now, a respectable gentleman such as you or I, on a business trip, may want to wear one of these watches. He might even bring a few if it’s a long stay, and could expect to raise no eyebrows. Who knows, once he arrives, he might even want to _sell a few_. After all, one never knows when they could be in need of a few thousand.” 

Loki leaned back in his seat, mulling the concept over in his mind. It was inventive, he had to admit. Watch laundering. 

Money laundering had never really taken off in Asgard, with mortals tending to be far more creative in their criminality. He made a mental note to introduce this little scheme upon his return. 

“Clever.” He tilted his head to the side. “I shall have to give my watches a little more consideration on my travels.” 

“I must show you a selection of mine sometime.” Roger’s eyes glinted. “In fact, Matej does have an associate who is most interested in a few custom made pieces. Perhaps he will want to fly you out with them to ensure their safe arrival.” 

Loki grinned. 

\-- 

You were well aware that every single member of staff was watching you as you entered the building. You didn’t blame them. Some of them were surprised to see you again. Some of them were genuinely shocked that you were still alive. Others were simply dumbfounded by the sight of a woman striding through the halls with some serious intent in her step. They’d seen women with Matej before, of course, but never had one simply let herself in and immediately made her way to his study, giving absolutely no regard to what or whom he might be doing. He was not a man who liked to be interrupted, but equally, you were not a woman who gave a fuck. 

Bela lingered a foot or so behind you, hands stuffed in his pockets, a bemused expression on his face. He was not sure what was going to happen, but he knew it would be entertaining. Life around you was never dull, he had found. 

You threw open the doors to his study, one eyebrow raised as your gaze fell on him. He was sat at the mahogany desk, feet crossed atop it, cigar in hand. The suit he wore looked expensive, but you wouldn’t know from the careless way he held the small burning stick, completely without care for if ash dropped on his pristine shirt. It would be someone else’s problem. 

“Ah, my favourite little vigilante.” He greeted you. “I have missed you.” 

“Hello to you too.” You plastered a sarcastic smile on your face. “I would say I missed you too, but I really haven’t.” 

He threw his head back and laughed. 

“You come in here, into my study, and interrupt me with your mouthy attitude,” He draped his elbow over the back of the chair. “And yet you are surprised to hear that I have missed you? You know me better than that.”   
  
“Well, the last time I saw you I was trying to kill you.” You leaned on the door frame. “Some people do get a bit antsy about that.” 

“It was hardly the first time.” He reminded you. “And you were a spy, after all. Hardly unusual behaviour.” 

“You give me too much credit, darling.” You drawled. “I’m a mercenary, at best.” 

“Mercenary, spy, assassin..” He sighed. “They all mean the same when there is a knife at your throat.” 

You scoffed, walking further into the study. It looked exactly the same as it had done the last time you were in it, as if it had been chemically preserved. Even the books were in the same order. As you trailed your fingertips across their spines, you wondered if he’d ever actually read any of them or if it was just to keep up an appearance. 

He twitched as you lifted a paperweight off the edge of his desk, rolling it between your hands. He did not take well to people touching his things. 

“Might I remind you that you have made your own attempts on my life?” You called over your shoulder as you turned away from him, staring through the window at the lawn below you. 

“I like to keep you on your toes.” You could hear the grin in his voice without needing to see it. You rolled your eyes, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. You didn’t want to look at him for fear of giving yourself away. What he had in store for you, what he was planning, was anybody’s guess, but you knew it wouldn’t be pretty. 

“Cut the bullshit, Matej.” You said. “Why am I here?” 

The scrape of his chair against the hard floor echoed through the room, cutting the silence. The sound unsettled you, like nails on a chalkboard. 

His footsteps were quiet as he approached you, his body warm against your back. His fingers felt like fire on your skin as he swept your hair away from your neck, leaving your throat exposed to the cool air. Your heart stilled as he dipped his head, his nose gently brushing your sensitive skin, a breath caught in your throat. 

“You came to me.” He murmured into your collar bone. 

“You stole my stuff.” You replied, your voice hoarse. 

“You would’ve come to me anyway.” He chuckled darkly. “You will always come to me.” 

“What do you want from me?” You gulped. 

“I want to play a game.” He hummed. “And you are my very favourite partner.” 

“And what if I don’t want to participate?” You whispered. His hand was gentle on your hip, but you both knew it was a warning. He had you backed into a corner, both literally and figuratively. 

“You always want to play.” He replied. “You act like you don’t, but it’s all part and parcel. We will play this game forever, you and I, like cat and mouse. And you love it just as much as I do.” 

“I don’t.” You turned around, his gaze matching yours. “The only person who likes your games is you, Matej, because you always win.” 

His grip on your waist tightened, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly as he fought to maintain his composure. 

“The day you win, you will have the entire world.” His voice came out almost as a snarl, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. His breaths were heavy, almost forced, hot on your skin. 

“I don’t want the entire world.” You said softly. “I want to be free. Let me go, let Loki go.” 

“The boy?” Anger burned in the back of his eyes. “What is this sudden virtue?” 

“He is nothing but a toy.” You lifted your head adamantly. “He keeps me entertained. I find him amusing.”

“You’re lying.” He growled. “You care for him.”

You panicked. You had really pissed him off now, if the bruising grip he had on you was anything to go by.   
  
“I don’t.” You whispered. 

“Do not lie to me!” He shouted, lifting his hand. You flinched, bracing yourself for the blow, but it never came. Instead, he gripped your face, his thumb under your jaw forcing you to look at him. “I allow you into my home, I welcome you with open arms, I even had company brought here ready for your arrival, and this is how you repay me? Tell me, _darling_ , do you love him?” 

You sniffed, holding your form rigid. Tears bit at your eyes, threatening to spill over, but you willed them away. 

“Love is life’s great lie.” You whispered. He stared at you for a second, searching your face for something. Clearly satisfied with whatever he found, he dropped your face, turning around to sit back at his desk. 

“You may leave.” He waved a hand at you dismissively, not even lifting his head to look at you. “Bela will show you to your room.” 

You released a breath you had been holding for some time, before turning on your heel and sweeping out of the door. 

\--

Loki felt remarkably pleased with himself as he sauntered through the hall way. In his life, he had been given a vast number of unusual and difficult tasks, but accompanying a case full of expensive watches to a tropical island felt as if it was something he could manage. He’d been asked to join Matej in his study, so he decided that he’d humour his host before tucking himself into bed. 

He rounded the corner, vaguely aware of two voices getting progressively closer to him, but not giving it a lot of thought. 

He collided with a solid column of flesh as he stepped around the corner, the other person clearly too engaged in their conversation to have heard him coming. 

“Sorry.” He muttered, throwing his hands up apologetically as he stepped around them. They didn’t respond.   
  


He turned as he walked away, wondering who he’d just barrelled into. However, all thoughts of them faded from his mind when he realised who they’d been conversing with. 

You glanced behind you at him as you walked away, tossing your hair over your other shoulder, the smallest of smiles on your lips. You tossed him a wink as you continued along the corridor, before turning back around as if nothing had happened. 

Loki shook his head in confusion. So you were here. And safe, at least. For now, anyway. 

His plans changed with every step towards the study. Sleeping was now the furthest thing from his mind, after his little chat he would seek you out and grill you. If he had to lift you upside down and literally shake the answers from you, that would be what he would do. 

He knocked gently on the wooden door in front of him, his hand resting on the door knob until he heard a yell from inside inviting him in. 

“Senor.” He bowed his head momentarily as he walked towards the desk. 

“Loki.” Matej smiled up at him. “Please, take a seat.” 

He pulled himself out a chair, settling on it with a slight wince. All of the chairs in this house, he had noticed, were very uncomfortable. 

“I take it Slater explained our little business to you?” He lifted a pen from the desk, rolling it between his fingers. 

“He did.” Loki confirmed, nodding his head slightly. 

“And did you find it agreeable?” The other man dropped his pen, staring up at him. 

“I did.” He nodded again. 

“Good.” Matej smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Just before you go, I take it you have been made aware that your partner has arrived?”   
  
“I have.” Loki agreed. 

“I imagine you are already well acquainted with my wife, so I have no need to tell you that she has an unpleasant tendency to stab people in the back.” His host sighed. 

Loki grimaced. “Sometimes literally.” 

“You will see her soon, do not worry.” He continued. “But I would like for you to keep her company.” 

Loki nodded again - he seemed to be doing that a lot - opening his mouth to speak. Before the words came out of his mouth, however, a thought stopped him in his tracks. 

_Did he just say ‘his wife’?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently y'all really like Loki's memories, so obvs I had to indulge. Plus, I'm so soft for Loki and Frigga, I'm really excited to bring her in as a canon character, as opposed to appearing in fragments from Loki's mind. 
> 
> Also, I fucking LOVE a good metaphor. 
> 
> P.S Pay attention to Loki's memories.


End file.
